Skeletons in the Closet
by Collegekid2006
Summary: When Shawn's kidnapped, Henry's on the case...But which of his longforgotten cases could possibly have led to this?And will he be able to find Shawn in time?
1. Chapter 1

The clock next to Henry's bed flashed 5:00, and the alarm went off.

He hit it lazily and sat up, just as the phone rang.

_It had better not be who I think it is…_he thought to himself, answering it reluctantly.

He and Shawn had gotten into yet another fight last night, and this time it was Shawn's turn to initiate the hatchet-burying.

But not at 5 AM.

"What?" He barked into the receiver.

"Henry, oh Henry. Time to wake up," the voice called him.

"Shawn?" He asked the voice didn't belong to his son.

"No, but he's here. Say hi to Daddy, Shawn," the angry voice said. A scream of pain in a familiar voice had Henry's eyes open in a flash.

He didn't have to be told who was screaming.

"_Shawn?!_"

"Not convinced?" The gravely voice asked. "Want to talk to him again?"

"No! What the hell do you want?"

"Now, now, Henry. Where's the fun in just telling you what I want? Where's the challenge? You like a challenge, don't you?"

Henry was out of bed, pacing the room, his heart in his throat.

"Listen, you son of a—"

"Name-calling? Really, Henry? When I'm holding a knife to your son's throat? I thought you were smarter than that."

_He's calm…_Henry thought desperately. _Calculating…damn it! He's in control! I don't have any leverage!_

Henry bit back his pride and rage.

Just for a moment.

Just until he could figure out what to do.

_Keep him on the phone…_

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Just tell me what you want."

"That's better."

_He's not using an electronic voice modifier…_

_He's gutsy._

_I could i.d. his voice if I heard it again…_

_That means Shawn could, too._

_He has to know that._

The reality suddenly struck Henry.

Hard.

_Oh, God._

_He doesn't intend to let Shawn go. _

_He already knows he's going to kill him!_

The voice continued to talk.

All Henry could do was listen.

"Listen carefully, Henry. Do exactly what I say, and you just might see your son again."

_He's lying…_

_His voice is too cool, too unaffected._

_He's a sociopath._

"I'm listening."

"No, you're not. You're thinking. You're analyzing me, planning your strategy, assessing your options. I know you, Henry. I don't really have your complete and undivided attention."

There was another agonizing scream.

What the hell was he doing to Shawn?

"Do I have your attention now?"

"Yes! I'm listening, damnit!" Henry yelled. "What the hell do you want from me? I'm listening!"

"Good. Shawn, for one, is very relieved to hear it."

"Can I talk to him?"

"You don't have to. You know he's alive, and you know that could change at any moment if I choose. Don't ask any more stupid questions, Henry. It's beneath you. Honestly. In fact, don't talk at all. Just listen."

There was a long pause.

_He's waiting for me to say something…_

_He wants me to screw up…_

He didn't fall for it.

"Smart man." The voice acknowledged. "Keep it up, and this will all be over before you know it."

Another agonizing lull.

_Don't do it…_

_Don't do it…_

_Don't say anything._

"I'm impressed, Henry. You catch on so much faster than most people."

_Most people?_

_He's done this before?_

Henry's mind was racing, sifting through thousands of case files, looking for unsolved kidnappings with no ransom demands and suspected torture elements.

"You see," the voice sighed. "There you go again. Analyzing. Planning. Why can't I hold your attention, Henry? I thought hearing your son scream would keep your head in the game."

Henry held his breath, waiting helplessly to hear Shawn scream in pain again.

This time, however, there was nothing.

_Is he unconscious?_

_Dead?_

"Let's just cut to the chase, shall we? By now, you've figured out that I don't want money. I don't want a ransom. You can't buy Shawn's life. Not for any price. You have to earn it."

_How?_

_Just tell me how, damnit!_

"You want to know how, don't you?" The voice almost sounded amused by the silence, knowing it was killing him.

"It's simple enough. All you have to do is beat me. Beat me at my game when you don't know the rules, and you'll get Shawn back. Alive and mostly well…probably. That depends on you...Oh, and about those rules…just make sure you don't break one. If you break a rule in this game, Shawn dies."

The voice laughed, for the first time.

Low and harsh, like sand in a blender.

"Goodbye, Henry. Have a nice day."

The line went dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Henry replaced the phone slowly, staring blankly into space, trying to figure out what to do next.

_Okay…what do I know?_

He quickly ran down the mental list he had already assembled.

_The guy's insane._

_A control freak._

_Can't stand being ignored…probably a loner._

_Picked on as a kid._

He stood up and began to pace the length of the room, his brain firing off facts almost faster than he could process them.

_He knows me well enough to know what I'll do, how I think._

_Well enough to know I won't recognize his voice._

He glanced at the clock again.

6:00.

A half-hour since the psycho had hung up.

_What has he been doing to Shawn since then?_

He forced the thought out of his mind.

Dwelling on that wasn't going to help anyone.

_What about these damn rules I can't break?_

_What are they?_

Henry suddenly realized he was clutching his gun.

He hadn't touched it in years.

But there it was, in his hand.

Loaded.

Ready.

He didn't even remember taking it out of the closet…

_No cops._

_That has to be the first rule._

_It's always the first rule._

_I'm on my own._

He strapped on his holster and went downstairs, certain that was the first step in finding Shawn.

Being downstairs.

_But what comes next?_

He heard a car pull into the driveway. He looked out the back window.

Detective Lassiter was walking up to the back door.

Henry quickly hid the gun and took a few deep breaths, trying to gain some composure before he heard the doorbell.

_No cops…_

_It's always the first rule._

_…What the hell is he even doing here?_

The doorbell rang.

He answered it, forcing a half-smile.

"'Morning, Detective Lassiter."

"Good morning, Mr. Spencer. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No. What can I do for you?"  
"Can I come in?"  
"No."

Henry crossed his arms and glared out the screen door, hoping he would just leave.

"Okay…" Lassiter agreed, furrowing his brow

_He knows something's up…_

"I just had a question. Do you know where Shawn is?"

"Shawn? No. Why would I? I assume at his apartment."

"Because he's not there. I just checked. It's in shambles, like there was a struggle."  
"Kid's a slob," Henry shrugged.

"True…"

Lassiter pulled a folded-up piece of paper out his pocket and plastered it against the screen.

"But that doesn't explain this. It was taped to my windshield this morning. It's why I went to his apartment in the first place."

Henry's heart stopped when he read the message, left in cut-out magazine letters across the page.

**SPENCER HAS 24 HOURS TO LIVE.**

_What the hell is this?_

_Is this one of the rules?_

_Is Lassiter supposed to help me?_

_Why?_

Henry took a deep breath.

_Or is it a trick?_

_Is he just creating an excuse to kill Shawn?_

_Does it matter?_

_Do I have a choice now?_

"I think you should come in," Henry said, pushing the door open and stepping aside. Lassiter nodded and entered the house.

_I'm not dealing with your ordinary, run-in-the-mill psycho here._

_He's unpredictable._

_Anything goes._


	3. Chapter 3

When Shawn first came to, he didn't notice the splitting pain in his head.

Or the pool of blood that had formed beneath the chair he was tied to, dripping from his nose, mouth and eyes.

The first thing he noticed was the gentle swaying motion of the floor.

It was making him sick.

_I'm on a boat? _

The fog slowly began to lift, and he took in his surroundings.

It was dark, but he could see that he was, indeed, on a boat.

In a cabin below the waterline.

Tied to a chair at the far end. Too far to inch his way to the door…

_God, I want to throw up! The waves… _

Judging from the mess on the cabin floor, he had already thrown up a few times while he was unconscious.

Probably a combination of chloroform and seasickness.

_What happened? _

His head was pounding, searching for his last memory…but there wasn't one.

He couldn't remember anything before waking up two minutes ago.

Suddenly, there was a noise from the cabin door.

Someone was here.

It was too dark and Shawn's head was still spinning too fast to get a good look, but it was definitely a man.

6'2?

6'3?

Thin.

Pale.

He was smoking a cigarette as he entered the room and began to circle Shawn.

"Good morning, Shawn," he greeted, almost cheerfully.

"Are you the manager of this dump?" Shawn snapped, at a loss for what else to say. "When I made my reservation, I specifically requested a non-smoking, non-torture room. Someone seriously goofed up."

The man laughed.

But it wasn't a laugh that said something was funny.

It was more like a laugh that said he was ready to use the long hunting knife that hung from his side to slit Shawn's throat at any moment, just give him a reason.

He took a long drag off his cigarette.

"Are you ready to call and say good morning to Daddy?"

"Actually, I'd rather not. We're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment…we kinda had a fight last night, and it's his turn to--"

"Shut up."

He didn't yell it.

He didn't raise his voice at all.

He didn't even sound particularly angry.

It was just a calm, even-toned command; one Shawn instinctively knew he should obey.

The man was standing behind him now. Shawn could hear a cell phone being opened and dialed.

"Do me a favor," he quipped, wondering how wise it was even as he spoke. "Tell him there are, like, ten of you. I'll never live it down if he finds out I let one skinny twerp get the jump on me. You don't know my dad."

But the man wasn't listening.

He was already saying something into the phone…Shawn couldn't hear exactly what…

Suddenly, there was a searing pain on the back of his neck. It came so quickly and took him so by surprise that he couldn't help it.

He screamed.

It seemed to be exactly the reaction the man wanted.

At least, he smiled as he dropped the stubbed-out cigarette on Shawn's lap and lit up another one, continuing the hushed conversation on the phone. Shawn strained to hear what was being said, but the blood was pounding in his ears so loudly he could barely even think.

A few moments later, there was a second burst of pain in his neck. He tried to stop himself from screaming again, but couldn't.

By the third time, however, he had his mind set.

He bit his lip until it bled, but he didn't make a sound as the ember was touched to his skin.

He wasn't going to give this psycho the satisfaction.

Finally, the phone clicked off.

The man began to leave the cabin without even a second glance in Shawn's direction.

"Dude, wait." Shawn called, kicking himself mentally even as the words poured out of his mouth.

He just didn't know what else to do.

He couldn't get a handle on this guy.

What the hell did he want?

"What?"

"Clearly, you have no idea what you're doing. Let me clue you in. First of all, my dad is the last person on earth you want to piss off. Seriously. He's a bastard. Just…a real bastard. Secondly, if you think you can make him do anything by hurting me…you've got another thing coming. Sorry to disappoint you, but he doesn't even like me all that much. You'd have better luck getting whatever you want if you kidnapped his fishing pole. And there's nothing you can do to me that he hasn't threatened to do a thousand times before…every time I wouldn't clean my room, or brought home a C, or didn't become a cop…"

"Are you finished babbling?"

"Umm…that's about it, yeah."

"Good."

He turned to leave again, but paused in the doorway.

"You don't actually imagine I would try to force Henry Spencer to do anything, do you? How stupid do you think I am?"

"Is that rhetorical?"

"I don't expect him to do anything, Shawn. That's the whole point."

"What point?"

"The point of the game…he doesn't have to do anything at all. Just show up and watch you die."


	4. Chapter 4

For the next hour, Shawn was completely alone in the cabin.

For a while, he worked at loosening the duct tape that bound his hands, chest and ankles to the chair, but to no avail.

It was just too tight.

_Dad would be proud, at least..he's always saying I should keep duct tape around…"Duct tape can fix anything Shawn…"_

_Hell, he'll be more disappointed in me than the psycho who kidnapped and murdered me…"Sure, he killed Shawn, but at least he discovered a new use for duct tape…"_

Almost as if on cue, the Psycho returned to the doorway. For a long moment he just stood there, partially shrouded in darkness, staring at Shawn with his ice cold blue eyes.

_Damn…that is one scary dude._

Finally, without a word, he lit up a cigarette and stepped into the cabin.

Shawn instinctively flinched.

The Psycho smiled.

"It hurts, doesn't it? Though, I think the neck is the worst…the arms aren't so bad. You get used to the arms…"

As the Psycho slowly approached, Shawn noticed the faded crescent-shaped scars that speckled his arms for the first time.

_I bet he has matching scars on the back of his neck…_

But he wouldn't cooperate and turn around so Shawn could see.

"I bet it hurts more when you're a kid," Shawn said quietly.

The Psycho paused, regarding him for a moment.

Then, slowly, he drew his knife.

There was something behind his eyes now…something new. Something Shawn had never seen.

_Oh, crap._

He could see it coming now, but was powerless to stop it. All he could do was close his eyes as the morning sun glinted off the rapidly-falling blade.

There was a sharp flash of pain across his shoulder, as if a chunk of flesh had just been ripped out.

Then the blood started to flow. He could already feel it; soaking through his shirt, running down his arm and pooling on the floor.

He kept his eyes clenched shut, fighting against the pain. Fighting the desire to black-out.

He only opened them again when he heard the Psycho's voice, low and dangerous. Like he had never heard it before.

"Don't you pity me, Shawn. Don't you ever pity me."

"Trust me, I don't!" Shawn snapped back.

He knew he should just shut up for once in his life, but he didn't care anymore. He was pissed.

"I don't care what the hell happened to you! I don't care if you have the saddest sob story I've ever heard! This still ends the same way; you with a bullet through your damn skull! If I don't put it there myself, my father sure as hell will!"

The Psycho just nodded coolly.

"Possibly…possibly. But you'll be dead by then. Make no mistake, Shawn. In two hours, you have one more phone call to make, and then I slit your throat and dump you in the ocean. Your dad will never find your body. It's all part of the game…"

_He's a pathological liar! _Shawn realized suddenly.

_He said before he was going to kill me while Dad watched…but he never intended to keep me alive that long…_

_This isn't about me at all…_

The Psycho was back at the door.

"I'm just a decoy, aren't I?" Shawn asked.

He stopped.

"I'm just a distraction…so my dad doesn't realize you're setting him up. I'm not the one you want to kill at all. He is. This is about killing him. I'm, what? A bonus?"

The Psycho turned back around.

"You might want to put a band-aid on that." He said darkly, gesturing at Shawn's still-gushing wound.

Then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

As they drove to Shawn's apartment in Lassiter's car, Henry related the entire conversation with the psycho verbatim; a skill he'd picked up after filing thousands of incident reports.

"That's it?" Lassiter asked when he was through, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "No demands? No clue what to do next?"

"Nope."

"No schedule or time frame of any kind?"

"Nothing. At least, not until you showed up with that note. Apparently, we have less than 24 hours."

"That's…"

He didn't want to come right out and say it, but they were both thinking it.

"Yeah. I know. It's bad."

"But why me?" Lassiter asked, tugging his ear thoughtfully.

"I don't know."

"I mean, no offense or anything, Henry…but Shawn's…"

"Annoying?"

"Well…"

"Irritating as hell?"

"Yeah."

"Believe me. I know."

"What I'm saying is…why drag me into this? I'm not his friend. Most days, I'd like to pop his little pinhead like a child's balloon. Why not Guster instead? Or even O'Hara?"

"I don't know. Hell, they could have notes of their own for all I know."

"With this loon, nothing would surprise me. Or everything will," Lassiter shook his head grimly.

Henry glanced at the dashboard clock again.

7:00.

Two full hours since the phone rang….and so far, nothing.

Not even a glimmer.

They pulled into the parking garage and jumped out. Lassiter flashed his badge at the doorman, and the two quickly headed up the stairs to Shawn's apartment.

Henry let Lassiter take the lead.

He didn't want to admit he wasn't sure which one was Shawn's.

He'd never been there before.

Lassiter proved to be handy with a lock pick, and they were inside seconds later.

The apartment was in shambles. Two windows were broken, the chairs and table were overturned and cast aside, and glass littered the floor.

The odor still lingering in the air was faint, but Henry had worked enough abduction cases to recognize it immediately.

"Chloroform."

"Yeah," Lassiter nodded. "I thought so, too."

"The perp's at least 6'3," Henry added a second later, after surveying the scene.

"How do you figure?"

"Look."

He pointed at the shattered window in the living room.

"Look where it spider-webbed near the top. It's a rounded dent, not a clean break. Shawn rammed the SOB's head through it during the fight. It's at least 6'3; too tall to be Shawn."

He kicked absently at the overturned table.

"So, the guy grabbed him from behind…Shawn used the table as leverage, pushed back…knocked him through the window…and then…"

He let the thought dangle in the air, unfinished.

_This isn't some victim I'm talking about…it's Shawn…_

"Still not much to go on," Lassiter commented, jotting some notes in his pad.

"Well, it's not an I.D. bracelet, Detective, but it's sure as hell more than you've come up with." Henry snapped shortly.

Lassiter bristled at the barb, but decided to let it pass.

This time.

He did, however, snap the tip off his pencil.

Henry's cell phone rang. He answered it without thinking.

"What?"

"Good morning again, Henry."

_It's him!_

_How the hell did he get my cell phone number?_

"Are you finding anything useful at Shawn's apartment?" The voice pressed on, as cool as ever.

"I hope I'm not making this too easy for you. Where's the fun in that?"

Henry hesitated.

_Am I supposed to answer, or not?_

Apparently not, as the voice continued to talk on.

As if Henry wasn't even there.

As if he was superfluous to the entire conversation.

"It's 8:00, Henry. You've had three hours to figure out my little game. I have to say, I'm disappointed in you. I thought you'd be more motivated than this to find your son. Oh, well."

There was an excruciating scream.

Worse than the others, even.

_He's upping the ante…_

_But why now?_

"Motivated yet?"

"Don't worry," Henry growled, knowing he was probably breaking a rule. "I'm going to find you, you--"

"Now, now. What did we say about name-calling, Henry?"

This time, there wasn't a scream.

Just a moan…

The soft, sustained moan of someone in too much pain to scream.

"Shawn!"

"Did you want to talk to him, Henry? He's right here."

"Dad…"

Henry's heart began to race.

The voice was weak and distant-sounding, but it was Shawn.

"Shawn—"

"Listen…I don't have….time."

He was struggling to breathe, gasping badly with almost every word. His voice was so faint Henry could only catch snippets of what he was saying.

"Don't look for me… kill me as soon as he hangs up…was always going to…can't stop it…you're who he's after…kill you…you're the game…get out…won't find me…won't find me…stop looking…stop…"

"I'm not stopping, Shawn!" Henry screamed into the phone. "I'm not quitting! Shawn? Do you hear me? I'm not stopping! Shawn? SHAWN!"

The phone beeped.

_Call Ended._


	6. Chapter 6

_Call Ended_

"Damn it!"

Henry slipped the phone angrily back in his pocket, his mind racing.

_"…are you finding anything useful at Shawn's apartment…"_

_He knows I'm here!_

_It wasn't a guess…he knows where I am…_

_But how?_

It was too much.

There were too many layers…too many unknowns…

He couldn't think himself out of this one.

_"Don't look for me…"_

He kicked the toppled table, sending it skidding across the floor.

A small, metallic object that had apparently been wedged underneath ricocheted off the wall and struck Lassiter's foot. Lassiter scooped it up and examined it for a moment before tossing it to Henry.

"Rent-a-cop badge from some parking garage. It can't be Shawn's, can it? One of his million jobs?"

"Please!" Henry scoffed. "The kid's a lot of things, but he's no rent-a-cop."

He turned it over in his hand, memorizing every ridge and dimple.

_The Psycho left this here on purpose…_

_He wanted me to find it…_

_"…you're the game…"_

_It's a set-up._

Lassiter was already out the door.

"Let's check it out."

Henry followed slowly.

_It's a set-up._

In the car, Lassiter took the badge back and punched the parking garage into his dashboard GPS.

"It's not far. A few miles. It shouldn't take us more than ten minutes to get there."

"Okay…"

Henry closed his eyes and tried to replay the entire phone call in his mind one more time as they drove.

_What am I missing?_...

_How did he know where I was?_...

_I'm walking into a trap…_

_I don't care._

_I don't have a choice._

The parking garage was a two-bit operation; just a few dozen dimly-lit, underground spaces and a security kiosk. The guard who was on-duty was wearing an identical badge to the one Lassiter tossed on his desk.

"Tell us who that belongs to," he ordered, flashing his own badge and narrowing his eyes threateningly.

The guard looked up from his mini-TV and leaned back in his chair, balancing precariously on two of the legs. Clearly, he was not willing to part from his Soaps to help the real police.

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Could be anyone's."

"Really?"

Lassiter kicked one of the remaining legs, sending both the chair and the guard sprawling over backwards to the floor.

"What the heck, man?" The guard groaned, rubbing his head as he stumbled back to his feet.

"That's why you don't tip in your chair. Accidents happen. If you don't want another one, tell me whose badge that is. _Now._"

"I dunno! Let me check the list…"  
The guard sighed, still rubbing his head, and began to rummage through the small filing cabinet.

"Uh, that badge number is…Ben's."

_Ben?_ Henry thought disgustedly.

_The bastard who's going to kill my son is named…Ben? _

"And where does Ben live?" Lassiter demanded condescendingly, like he was speaking to a five year old.

"And don't even think about saying 'dunno'," he added before the guard could open his mouth, "unless you want to learn a first-hand definition of excessive force."

The guard hesitated.

"What if I don't know?"

"Find out."

"Umm…I can't accesses personnel files…but his car's here, if that helps."

"His car?" Henry asked, his ears perking for the first time the whole conversation.

"Sure. He leaves it here all the time. He has a truck, too. He can't always find parking for both on his street, so he leaves one here overnight. It's the gray Toyota at the end of the row, on the right."

Lassiter glanced at Henry and shrugged.

"Let's check it out."

He turned back to the guard.

"_You_. An address. Now."

"I can't--"

Lassiter glared.

The guard shut up and nodded.

"Right. I'll…get on it."

_He left his car here?_ Henry thought as they walked down the row of vehicles.

_He left his badge at Shawn's apartment…_

_Knowing that would lead us here…_

_Knowing that would lead us to his car…_

_This is where he wants us…_

Lassiter was peering in the Toyota's window.

"There's nothing here, Henry. It's clean…"

_He knew I was at the apartment…_

_Does he know I'm here now?_

_Could he have some kind of tracking device?_

_Some kind of…_

Suddenly, it struck him.

It all came together.

_Of course!_

"Lassiter!"

"What?"

The Detective turned, just as Henry reached him and pulled him to the floor…a split-second before the Toyota exploded.


	7. Chapter 7

Somewhere….somewhere through the blinding pain, somewhere over the blood pounding in his ears and the frantic thoughts rushing through his mind…somewhere, Shawn heard a cell phone snap shut.

_"…and then I slit your throat and dump you in the ocean…"_

He tried to open his eyes, tried to see through the blood running down his face…he knew he was on the floor, facing the ceiling, but he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there.

He couldn't remember anything but the white, hot pain.

The Psycho was standing over him now…Shawn could make out his figure against the red-tinted ceiling….

And then, suddenly, he was being forced to his feet…being shoved towards the door.

His knees buckled beneath him, and he found himself on the floor once again with nearly every step, but the Psycho wasn't giving up…he kept pushing him…silently, harshly, pushing him…up the stairs…

The sun was nearly blinding as Shawn emerged onto the deck of the boat. He stumbled again, but braced himself against the guardrail before he fell.

Blue…everything around him was a soft, calm blue…

_Shouldn't it be raining or something…when you're about to die, isn't it usually raining…?_

There was single point of stark white on the horizon…

_A sail?_

_A boat?_

_Or is it a cloud…?_

Shawn whirled around so he was facing the Psycho once again, but kept his grip on the guardrail.

The sun glinted off the knife as the Psycho approached…

He was saying something, but all Shawn heard was a low, crackling hum.

_It doesn't matter…_

_I don't have a choice…_

He let himself fall backwards, over the guardrail…down, down into the infinite blue below…

It didn't occur to him until he hit the salt water and felt the nearly paralyzing pain surge through his body.

_Crap!  
Sharks!  
And I'm bleeding like…something…that bleeds a lot…_

Somewhere above him, he heard popping sounds.

_Gunshots?_

He pushed off, trying to swim away…

_If it's a boat, it's at least a few miles away…if I can just make it…_

But within a few strokes, the water had soaked through his clothes, dragging him down…

_I can't do it…_

He stopped struggling and let the tide carry him.

_It's not so bad…drowning…better than facing the psycho…_

The last thought he had before he finally blacked-out and was dragged under was whether or not his dad would ever find his body…


	8. Chapter 8

_Light…_

_Too much light…_

Shawn blinked a few times, only vaguely aware he was still alive.

He tried to put his hand over his eyes to block the piercing sun, but it hurt too much to move.

It hurt too much to breathe.

He was sprawled on his back again, and he could feel the floor swaying under him…still swaying…

_Another boat…?_

Somewhere above him…it could have been a million miles away…someone was talking…

…To him?

…About him?

"What the heck _happened_?"

"Looks like a knife…"

"A knife did _that_?"

"We're almost back…Is he going to make it…?"

"…ambulance should be there…"

"…I don't think he's breathing…"

He tried to say something, tried to tell whoever was talking about his that he was fine…but he couldn't hold on…couldn't cling to consciousness…

He felt himself falling back into the painful, silent abyss.

Then there was nothing.

He wasn't jarred back into consciousness until he heard the siren.

Was it a minute later? An hour? A week?

The siren sounded close.

_An ambulance…_

_Someone's hurt…_

He blinked again, suddenly realizing it was him.

He was the one in the back of the ambulance.

_I'm the one who's hurt…_

Images quickly came into focus as his eyes finally started to cooperate. He could see the EMTs staring down at him, taking his blood pressure and checking his eyes with a flashlight…

_Too much light…_

"Can you hear me?" One of them was asking.

He nodded slowly, not sure his muscles would even work.

"Yeah."

His voice sounded like sandpaper.

It felt like sandpaper, too.

The EMTs worked quickly as the ambulance sped through the streets, the sirens still blaring.

Shawn kept fading in and out, but he could catch snatches of what they were saying.

"…lost a lot of blood…"

"…massive internal injuries…."

"…possibly a transfusion…"

"…prep the OR…"

As they wheeled him frantically through the hospital corridors into surgery, he searched the sea of blurry faces around him.

_Where is he…?_

_He's here…_

_I know he's here…_

He had a mask over his nose and mouth now, and was inhaling some sort of gas.

_He didn't give up..._

_He wouldn't give up, even if I told him to._

_He never listens to me._

The faces standing over him now were wearing surgical masks and speaking in low, somber tones. He could hear the metallic clatter of surgical instruments, but he kept looking.

Searching.

_Where is he?_

He fought against the gas, trying to stay awake.

Straining to see the one face he hadn't seen.

_He's here…_

"…Dad…"

_He's here…_

_He's here…_

_Why isn't he here?  
_


	9. Chapter 9

The persistent beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound piercing the otherwise perfect silence of the hospital room as Shawn opened his eyes again.

He lay still for a long moment, letting the memories slowly drift back to him.

_It's over…_

_It's over…_

_Except it's not._

_It can't be._

His eyes fell over his father, on the other side of the room. He was propped up, asleep, in a very uncomfortable-looking chair; his legs stretched out in front of him, his head resting on his hand.

His other arm was bandaged and in a sling, and his face was burned and badly cut.

_What happened?_

Shawn resisted the impulse to wake him up and ask.

_It doesn't matter._

_He's still alive…_

_The Psycho's still alive…_

_It's not over._

Henry snored, shifting in his sleep.

Shawn lay silently, still watching him.

_It's not over…_

He closed his eyes again, listening to the rhythmic beeping and his father's steady, quiet breathing as he slowly drifted back to sleep. For the first time in a long time, he felt something other than pure, unabashed terror.

Henry was already up when he awoke again. He was standing at the window, peering into the parking lot below.

"He's not coming back yet. Not this soon," Shawn said, sitting up as best he could.

Henry turned around.

"I know. Not yet. But he is coming back."

"Of course he is. I read James Patterson. The Psycho always comes back for one last try."

"This isn't a joke, Shawn. For God's sake, he almost—"

Henry stopped himself from finishing the thought. Shawn just shrugged.

"It looks like you didn't get off that easily, yourself. What happened?"

"Parking garage car bomb. Should've seen it coming…"

Shawn nodded.

"Nice. Car bomb. No points for originality, but judging from your bruised, battered and generally beaten-up appearance, I'd say at least a 6.5 for execution. Of course, you did survive…that's gonna hurt his final score."

"Don't kid yourself. I'm not alive because he screwed up. I got lucky. And so did you."

"Lucky?" Shawn snorted. "I kicked his butt!"

"You did a swan dive into shark-infested waters and happened to get picked up by tourists out for a sail. That's not brains, Kid. That's luck."

"Yeah…well…I saw the boat."

"Yeah, right."

Shawn exhaled loudly, completely exasperated.

"God! I can't even escape from a psycho good enough for you!"

"I'm just saying he's smart. Don't underestimate him. Don't get comfortable. Don't get careless or stupid."

Henry collapsed back into the chair, which Shawn noticed was now facing the door.

"He's smart…" Henry mumbled again, more to himself than anyone else. Shawn could see his mind working overtime.

"He used the GPS in Lassiter's car to track us. He knew right where I was every second. It was perfect."

"Wait…Lassie?" Shawn's eyebrows shot up. "How'd he get in on the fun?"

"The Psycho dragged him in…left a note on his windshield. I wouldn't be surprised if it was just for the GPS. All the police cars have them now, even the unmarked ones."

Shawn couldn't help grinning at the thought.

"So, Lassie got forced into looking for someone he'd rather not find, and then nearly got blown up…all because his car has GPS and the Psycho wanted to be able to keep track of where of you were? That's awesome!"

"All part of the game…hell, the only reason he kidnapped you was to keep me so distracted I wouldn't notice I was walking into a bomb."

"You're a very ego-centric person. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"You're the one who said I was the game…it was all about killing me."

"True…" Shawn conceded. "Seriously, though. Whatever you did to piss this guy off…just send flowers or something. Soon."

"I think we're beyond that at this point."

"Oh, I don't know…an apology can work wonders," Shawn added pointedly.

Henry looked up.

"What does that mean?"

"What? Nothing."

Shawn raised his shoulders innocently.

Henry wasn't buying it.

"Don't give me that! What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing…just that it takes a real man to admit when he's wrong…"

Henry had heard enough.

"I'm not apologizing, Shawn!" He snapped, standing back up.

"Well, it's your turn!"

"It is not! And it's not my fault you can't take a helpful suggestion!"

"'Go soak your head' is _not_ a helpful suggestion! And it's totally your turn!"

"Well, I'm not doing it."

"Well, neither am I."

The two Spencer men sat in a silent impasse for a long moment, both sulking in their own moral superiority.

"When he comes back," Shawn groused finally, "I hope he comes after you first."

'Yeah, well…" Henry uncrossed his arms, his face softening ever so slightly.

"Me, too, kid."


	10. Chapter 10

Henry waited until the painkillers finally put Shawn to sleep the next day before heading to the SBPD.

Lassiter was at his desk when he walked in, looking slightly beat-up from their car bomb encounter himself.

"What do you have?" Henry asked, taking a seat across from the detective.

Lassiter glanced up, then tossed him a file.

"He's long gone, but we have an I.D. and address. Ben Morton, Jr. I've already checked out his place."

"Morton?" Henry mumbled, flipping through the pages with his functional hand.

"Ring any bells?"

"Yeah. Ben Morton was a scumbag I'd bust at least a few times a month when I was on the force. He liked to get drunk and use his kid as an ashtray. I'd get a call, haul him in, and he'd be out by the next day."

"Well, it looks like our Psycho is that kid. When he was ten, he finally got put in a foster home. He spent most of the next decade bouncing around the system. Didn't stay anywhere longer than a few months, usually due to some sort of anti-social behavior. Fighting…stealing…torturing family pets, though no one could ever prove anything. He finally did a stint in juvee. He turned 18, got out, and has been off the map ever since."

"What does any of that have to do with me?"

Lassiter shrugged.

"Hell if I know. Maybe he blames the cops for busting his dad and ruining his happy home. Whatever it is, he's been planning this for a long time, Henry. A long time. I found journals at his apartment full of…well, ways to kill you. No explanations, no reasons. Just plans…most of it pretty twisted stuff."

"Yeah."

"Just watch your back."

"Why? You think he's coming back?"

"Don't you?"

"No," Henry stood up to leave.

"I know he is."

He drove back to the hospital, already preparing mentally.

It took longer than Henry had imagined for the Psycho to make his next move, however.

Nearly an entire month.

Actually, from the Psycho's perspective, the timing couldn't have been better.

Henry had just started sleeping again.

He'd just stopped holding his breath every time the phone rang.

He'd just stopped checking over his shoulder every two minutes when he walked down the street.

He'd just stopped finding excuses to drive by Shawn's apartment, just to make sure…

And then it happened.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Henry pulled into the driveway with a sulking Shawn sitting in the passenger seat.

"Come on, Shawn. You promised," he chided, getting out of the truck.

"Yeah, like three months ago."

"Exactly. You've been putting it off for three months. Well, you're going to do it today, or I'll never help you out on another one of your little cases again. Ever."

"Fine with me. I don't need your help, anyway," Shawn countered.

Henry just shot his son a look that told him to shut up more eloquently than words ever could, and handed him a broom.

"A deal's a deal. I get your forensics report run, you sweep the garage. Move."

Shawn sighed dramatically, taking the broom as if it might break if he gripped it too tight.

"Any leeway with the whole almost getting murdered thing?" He asked hopefully. "Have I played that out yet?"

"It's been a month. Get over it. Get to work."

Shawn rolled his eyes and began to sweep, muttering under his breath about how Gus never had to do stupid chores anymore.

"Don't forget under the workbench," Henry added before turning to go back into the house.

As he turned away, Shawn saw it.

A small, red point of light on his father' temple.

At least, he thought he saw it. By the time he looked again, it was gone.

_I'm seeing things…_

Except he wasn't.

He knew he wasn't.

He watched Henry cross the yard, but the red dot didn't reappear.

Until the split second before he closed the screen door behind him.

Shawn saw it flash again; gone as quickly as it was there.

"Dad!" He yelled, rushing towards the house.

"Shawn, get---"

"Get inside!"

Shawn had already reached his father, shoving him inside the door and slamming it closed behind them.

There was the _ping_ of a bullet narrowly missing its target and striking the house instead.

"Get away from the window!"

He quickly drew the curtains.

Henry had already caught up.

"He's out there?"

"With a scope. Probably in a tree,,,"

"Oh, gee, Shawn. And who was supposed to prune the trees so they didn't get overgrown?"

"Now is really not the time—"

"This is why we have chores, Shawn! So we can see the snipers in our trees!"

"Dad! Not now! Psycho with a gun out there…"

Henry already had his gun in his hand, ready. He looked over at Shawn.

"Where's yours?" He asked.

"I don't have one. I've never owned a gun!"

"Well, aren't you Mr. Sensitive. Go get the hunting rifle from the hall. And for God's sake, stay the hell away from the windows!"

Shawn quickly ducked into hall, emerging a few seconds later with the rifle.

From upstairs, they heard a window shatter, followed by the sound of heavy steps walking around.

Henry motioned for them to split up and circle around the downstairs. Shawn nodded, heading into the kitchen.

Ten seconds later, he heard a gunshot, followed by the thud of a body falling. He ran into the living room. Henry was slumped on the floor, blood covering his shoulder. His gun had skidded across the room, out of reach.

The Psycho was facing the door, waiting for Shawn to enter. He got off the first round, and Shawn could feel the bullet ripping through his forearm with searing pain.

He fell into an excruciating heap on the floor, dropping the rifle in the process.

The Psycho was smiling…moving towards Henry…

Shawn could see his father's gun, lying on the ground…it was close…so close…

He moved as subtly as possible, inching his way across the floor, but he knew he had to move quickly. The Psycho was standing over his father now, his rifle inches from his temple.

Shawn's hand closed around the discarded gun. He only had time for one shot…it had to count…

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet left a small, perfectly round hole as it tore through the Psycho's skull.

He was dead before he hit the floor.

Shawn slowly stood up, his arm still bleeding profusely. He dropped the gun and walked over to where Henry was still lying on the floor.

"Dad?"

"You got him," Henry almost smiled through the pain.

"Yeah…well…"

Shawn couldn't think of a way to tell him he wasn't proud of that, so he dropped the whole subject and went to get the phone.

He came back a few minutes later.

"The ambulance is on its way," he announced.

Henry nodded, his eyes beginning to glaze over slightly.

"Head shot…" he mumbled.

"What?"

"You took a head shot."

"So?"

"You could've missed. Easily."

"But I didn't."

"You should've gone for the chest…better chances…"

_Unbelievable!_

_He's passing out, and he still finds a way to criticize me!_

"I'm a good shot, Dad. I knew what I was doing."

"…luck…"

Shawn rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah."

He could already hear the ambulance approaching, sirens screaming.

_It'll always be luck…_

_To him, it'll always be luck…_

He sat on the floor next to Henry, pressing a clean cloth to the wound to stop the bleeding.

It was bad, but Shawn could already tell it wasn't fatal.

"You keep telling yourself that, Dad. Keep telling yourself that I'm just lucky…"

_But, someday...you'll have to admit the truth._

_That I'm just damn good!_


End file.
